


nomenclature

by trip (trap)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trap/pseuds/trip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the naming of things</p>
            </blockquote>





	nomenclature

**Author's Note:**

> ummm i just saw hcl last night and then wrote this! but now i wish i could see it again because i am pretty sure i messed up on some details. wups.

"It's like this, right," Billy said. 

Joe looked over his shoulder. "No, man, two," he said. "Two l's." 

"Right, okay," Billy said. He practiced it, writing it out. He repeated the motion until it was in his hand, the muscle memory; until it was natural and ingrained. His new name. Once he had the signature down he showed it to Joe. Joe oohed and ahhed and then ducked his chin a little, helplessly giggling in that way that should have sounded girly but just sounded manic. 

"Man, I was messing with you, fuck," he said. "Hahaha idiot." 

Billy shoved him. "You fucker," he said, not really surprised or even mad. "You dick." 

"Yeah," Joe said, still laughing. "Joe the dick. Joe Dick. Yeah, okay." 

\---

They were kids together. Learned music, together. Rubbed their forming calluses against each other's faces. "Feel it? Feel it?" The way skin could change, the way you could change your own skin, just by how you used it. 

\---

Fucking _Billy Tallent_. Fucking _sell-out_. 

\---

"You know, right," Johnny said. "What he died of." 

"Fuck off," Billy said. 

\---

They were sixteen and seventeen, they were thirty-five and eight. 

\---

Joe Dick made music like he wanted to fuck everyone with it. Like making music was an orgy. God, he was sloppy when he fucked, just shoving his dick in everywhere, anywhere. He wasn't one of those orgasm and done guys, he just kept going. He was, what? A process guy. He wanted _everything_ and he wanted _now_ and he would use a motherfucker up. 

Joe fucking Dick, he thought it was like a marriage, being in the band, thought it was a commitment like that. Something you had to remake every day, new, to keep it alive. Negotiate space, distance, time. 

\---

"Hard core," Billy said around the cigarette in his teeth. He thought he knew what it meant but he was too young to know what it meant. 

\---

When they broke up, the band, when the band broke up, it was like. Joe didn't even know how to function. He tried to make the music on his own but it just didn't work right. 

When Billy came back for that benefit they slotted together easy as coming home. They'd made their calluses together, of course it was as natural and painful as that. 

\---

Two l's, spelt wrong, felt right. Felt right down to the _muscle_. "I fucking _named_  you," Joe said. Betrayed, divorced. The first time. 

"Yeah, well, I fucking named you too," Billy said. 

\---

When questioned, Billy Tallent disavowed all knowledge of Joe Dick's missing corpse. When pressed, he pressed back.

\---

"Okay, but," Joe said, tilting his head back, considering. "Needs something more - . Logo. Yeah. Logo."

Because he knew the ownership of naming things, the power of a word.


End file.
